Angelus Lacrima
by Mitsukai Mizu Amaya
Summary: They laughed and cried together. She died and left him all alone. Spencer Reid has kept his reasons for joining the BAU a secret... until a case revolving around dead newborns hits a little close to home. // Case!Fic, Reid/OFC, M/E, J/W, G/Everyone
1. There's Always a Reason

**Author's Note:** This story is based on a novel I plan to write in the future. I say future because it's the fourth series of books I have planned. The first is Moonlight Chronicles, then Sunlight Chronicles, next Oblivion Chronicles, and then the prequel to them all – which this fanfic is based on – Sacrifice Chronicles. There's also a collection of short stories I'm going to write that goes along with them called the Meteor Files, but that's another story. It's complicated, trust me. ^^ Anyway, this fanfic is based on what I have planned for the Sacrifice Chronicles. After thinking about it and getting into watching Criminal Minds, I realized something; it fit perfectly! In some ways it was like watching what I had planned for the book on screen, only with a different storyline. Creepy similarities. O.o Well then, let's keep going. I did change quite a few things from the original concept, so yeah…

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Criminal Minds nor the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit… I merely wish to be part of the Unit someday. All I own is my own characters, the aforementioned Chronicles and Files, and the plot. Nothing more.

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Prologue

**There's Always a Reason**

'_We cannot change our past. We cannot change that people act a in certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude.'_

– _Charles R. Swindoll_

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I should have known. I should have at least _suspected_.

It _was_ the BAU after all. On this day, I should have suspected no less from them. They _had_ done it every year since as far back as I could remember.

So _why_ then? _Why hadn't I seen this coming?_

An audible sigh escaped me as I looked down at the mess of flame and frosting. The answer was right in front of me; of course I couldn't see it. Of all places to ambush me with a surprise party, I had not suspected my own apartment.

My first hint should have been the lack of 'Happy Birthday's as I walked through the halls of the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. Usually there was a cake waiting on my desk with that obscene hat Morgan forced on me every year. There was nothing. I had actually dared to hope that they had forgotten. The last thing I needed was a party. I _do not like_ parties. So I went about my day, careful not to breathe a word about what day it was, lest I be accosted with a cake and presents. Once work was over I was so sure that they had all forgotten that I foolishly went home, intent on spending the day reviewing lectures and watching reruns of Star Trek. There wasn't a case yet; I had to enjoy my time home while I could.

I had been so foolish.

Now here I was, stuck between a grinning Garcia and a laughing Morgan. A _surprise party. _I had been surprised alright… surprised enough that my gun as out of it's holster before they had even finished '_SURPRISE!'_ Alright, so pulling a gun on my friends – my family – does seem a little paranoid and skiddish… but after Georgia, who could blame me?

It was then and there I realized what I had missed. Morgan and J.J. ducking out of work a couple minutes early. Garcia giggling with Emily as I walked by her office. Even Hotchner and Rossi were in on it. At times like this I really wish that I _did_ know everything, as Morgan insisted. However, I digress…

"You guys… shouldn't have. I mean you _really_ shouldn't have…" I said quietly, looking down at the candles. If they were trick candles again, so help me…

Garcia's smile widened and she bumped by shoulder a bit, "Come on, hun… it's not that bad! Just blow 'em out and we can get to cake and presents!"

"And stories of our young Doctor Reid's even younger days!" Morgan smiled somewhat slyly. I gave him a look like I had no idea what he was talking about. I did, of course… eidetic memory and all. "Don't look at me like that, Reid," Morgan said, "You lost fair and square. Who knew a genius would be so bad at Call of Duty 4?"

"I don't like mindless shooter games, Morgan."

"Mindless?! It's pure awesome–"

Emily pushed Morgan's head forward, then pulled him back by the back of his T-shirt to stop him from plowing into the frosted monstrosity before me, "Enough, Derek." Garcia chuckled and patted my shoulder, "It's okay, hun. No bad questions, I promise. Now makes a wish and blow out your candles."

I sighed and thought '_Might as well get this over with'_. With as large an intake of air as I could, I made my first attempt to blow out the mass of fire. My brow furrowed; I only managed to snuff half of them. At least they did not reignite themselves as last year. So, ignoring the laughs and giggles of those around me, I breathed in once more to blow out the rest of them. The girls and Morgan clapped while Rossi smirked and Hotch crossed his arms, the ghost of a smile on his face.

"Did you make a wish, sweetie?" Garcia asked.

I swear Penelope Garcia was sometimes too much of a mother to the rest of us, "No. Was I supposed to?" I had heard that some people made wishes while they blew out birthday candles; it just seemed childish to me. Morgan and Garcia just sighed and began plucking candles from the cake. I just sat there, wondering if this was all over now; if they could just go home and I could spend the rest of my evening in the company of by books.

After a short while, the two of them had finished picking out the candles and J.J. took it to the kitchen after of my apartment (it wasn't separate; my apartment was small.) to cut it. William followed her soon after to get out the ice cream that they had stashed in my freezer. Everything was quiet for exactly nine seconds before I found a rather large package being unceremoniously dumped on my lap. I looked up to see that Emily had dropped the brightly-wrapped package from behind me, "It's from me; go ahead and open it." I nodded quickly and turned to the box, tilting it to the side in order to see the end of it. From there I began to carefully take off the tape and unwrap the gift until Morgan grunted. Her reached over and – with both hands – tore the paper off at the middle. There was a brown packing box inside.

"Seriously man, just tear the stuff open. The paper's not gonna eat you."

I nodded, not really paying attention to him, and looked up at Emily, "Um… thanks?" Why had she gotten me a brown packing box?

"Open the box, Spencer," Emily chuckled.

"Oh…" Okay, now I felt stupid. I asked Garcia for a key and when she gave me one, I slid it down the taped edge of the box and it sprang open. My head immediately shot up to Emily, eyes wide.

"It's enough coffee to last even _you_ a good few months. And enough sugar to last you a couple days with the rate you've been going," Emily leaned over, opening the box wider to that the others could get a good look at it.

"Damn, Prentiss, is that a new chrome coffee maker?" Morgan whistled.

"Th-thanks, Emily…" I stuttered, my face reddening ever so slightly. Garcia plucked the package – coffee and all – off of me and set down another, one that was an obnoxious color of yellow. I winced and the brightness and opened it carefully, much to Morgan's chagrin. Inside was a book, _'Getting Dates for Dummies'_.

"That's from me too Reid," Morgan leaned over and smiled.

My face had turned beet red. Of course a book like this had something to do with Morgan; who else besides him and Garcia would buy something like this for me, no matter how many times I had told them that I wasn't interested right now. A sigh escaped me and I shook my head a bit.

It went on like that for a while. Hotchner got me a new chess set; it reminded me of Gideon, which sent a pang of sadness through my body. It had been a few months since he had left the BAU. No matter how long it was, there was no way I would forget finding that letter. From Rossi I got a cleaning kit for my gun. J.J., Will, and their little baby Henry got me some more books. I didn't have the heart to tell them that out of the ten they'd gotten, I already owned five and head read seven. Once the gift-giving was over, I hoped that they would finally all leave; that was, of course, far too much to ask. I could understand Morgan and Garcia, maybe even the others, staying to pester me, but even Hotchner stayed.

"Okay, what…?" I asked slowly, only mildly curious as to why the team remained in my cramped apartment.

"We made a bet at my last birthday party that whoever lost the worst at Call of Duty would have to answer one question," Morgan's smile grew, "I've been harboring this until the time was right… so Reid, time to pay up."

I knew I shouldn't have agreed to his terms before. Then again, knowing Morgan, it would be something about past relationships. All I would probably have to say was 'no' and be done with it. Then, probably just to dash my hopes, Morgan added, "I've already talked to the others just to make sure that this question would be as good as I thought it would. So it's nothing about women, don't worry." All that did was make me worry more. Especially with the collective smiles spreading across the room. I wasn't one prone to cussing, but at that moment all I could think was '_Oh shit'_.

"Stop teasing him Morgan and just ask," Emily rolled her eyes.

Morgan's smile faltered for only a moment. Emily was ruining his fun, for which I was glad. But that did not deter him in the least.

"Doctor Spencer Reid… why did you join the Behavioral Analysis Unit if the FBI?"

I blinked multiple times and just stared stupidly at the man. Of all questions to ask, I had not expected this one, "Excuse me, what?"

"You could've been anything, honey," Garcia said from my right, "With you're brain, you could probably have a Nobel Prize for discovering the cure to cancer if you wanted to! We just want to know why the BAU? You could have done anything with you life, so why here?"

I had only told Gideon the true answer to that question. Swallowing hard, I looked down at my hands, playing with my fingers. William handed me a piece of cake while J.J. picked up a sleeping Henry off a chair to lay him in his stroller. I set the cake down, suddenly loosing my appetite, "I would rather not–"

"You're not getting out of this one Reid!" Morgan insisted, "Come on, it can't be that bad!"

I sighed and closed my eyes, head still bent down. Images flashed in front of my eyes in rapid succession. I never forgot the things I saw. Ever.

"I never had many friends when I was younger. Only a few I would meet that would be put off almost immediately when they found out about my intellect. Or those who simply used me to shirk their homework by copying mine. But…" This was going to be hard, I could tell. They all knew I didn't like to talk about myself and tend to ramble when I get nervous. The sweaty palms I was getting told me I was leaning towards the latter, "… I did have a very good friend when I was twelve. We had known each other for a few years and neither she nor her parents–"

"_She?_"

"Morgan!" Emily hit the offender over the head.

"– were put off by my freakish IQ, the 20,000 words a minute, or anything else. Her name was Nephilim, and we had met on one of the few occasions her parents allowed her to play in the park. We played chess, and she… well, I beat her pretty badly."

"Why wouldn't her parents let her out?" J.J. asked, still leaning over Henry to make sure he was comfortable.

"Nephilim never had a very strong immune system. She got sick a lot, and that was all compounded by the fact that she was an albino," I opened my eyes halfway to stare at my hands.

Morgan looked confused, "Albino? Like white hair, white skin, red eyes kinda stuff?"

"Yeah," I nodded slowly, "A lot of the time I would visit her at home, when I wasn't studying or taking care of mom. She was… unique," A smile crept along my features and I tilted my head a bit, thinking. It got silent as everyone just watched me. After a minute I sighed, my smile falling, "It happened about a month before I left for college, a few days after my thirteenth birthday. She was ten, turning eleven in January. I went over to her house with some medicine I had seen at the store; Nephilim's health had been getting worse lately. That day… thanks to my memory, I remember it all."

I shivered, more images coming to my head. It had gotten oddly quite; I think they were beginning to realize that this was the wrong question to ask. "I found them; her parents. They were both tied to a giant, makeshift cross in the living room. Nailed at the wrists, ankles, and heart. Their arms and legs were severed from the torso and blood was… blood was everywhere," I shook again, my eyebrows pulling together. The words were just coming out know; as I said, the only one I had told was Gideon. I guess that I just needed to get it out, "There was writing all over the wall. Different biblical sayings in multiple different hands. Nephilim was nowhere to be found, though I found out much later that her… her…" I squeezed my eyes shut, hands clenched into tight fists, "… her blood was found her bedroom upstairs, mixed with… with semen and… there was evidence of a struggle. Someone had set up her bedroom like some sort of cultist ritual had taken place there…

Through all of it, and through the investigation, no one ever found Nephilim's body or caught the killers. She couldn't survive without her medication for very long, so eventually everyone assumed she had died. At first, I had planned to become a detective with the Special Victims Unit in Las Vegas, but then I met Gideon and… well, you know the rest. I wanted the ability to stop things like what happened to Nephilim and her family from happening to anyone else."

They were silent after I had finished speaking. It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop; even if the apartment was carpeted. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of hoping that my team would stop _staring_, Morgan stood up, "Well, damn kid. You sure are messed up, aren't you?" He smiled – somewhat forcefully, I noted – and leaned over to give me a one-armed hug. After that, the silence was broken. I sighed and nodded, forcing on a smile that fooled no one as Emily helped J.J. get out the rest of the cake and ice cream. Why we were getting dessert first I would never know.

But that night, I couldn't stop thinking about the past.

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**Author's Note:** Read and review before I have to beg and bite your head off! Or I could sick Reid and Morgan on you~ Also, be nice; this is my first EVER published fanfic. Next part out after a few reviews~

**CHAPTER ONE SPOILER**

_"… It took thirteen years for all these murders to be connected? Why?"_

_"They were spread out all over the country; it isn't until lately that they've begun to be centralized. And after the local police began to notice a connection, forensic testing found something else."_

_"What?"_

_"All the victims were found about nine months from each other, give or take a week or so. They all… had the same mother, but no two had the same father."_

_"Oh my… oh my god!"_


	2. Seventeen

**Author's Note:** Yay for the first review! Not even twenty four hours and I got a review and two subscriptions! That makes me a happy fanfic writer. And anyone who knows me can tell you, happy Amaya means less torturing of the characters in this chapter! It's actually a toss-up wether of not a happy me means more torturing and angsty goodness or less, but at the moment it means less! So, sit back and enjoy the ride! Coming at you all is Chapter One of Angelus Lacrima!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds; Someday I will be Queen of the BAU, though. Seriously! Oh, CBS owns CM, not me. Acronyms galore. Also, Shakespeare is owned buy… no one, really. You don't have to pay royalties to preform it… ^^;;

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Chapter One

**Seventeen**

'_Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.'_

– _Auric Goldfinger_

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Nice white button-up shirt, deep forest green tie, a new gray sweater vest, nice black pants, the usual purple scarf. Hair combed and nice, teeth brushed, bath taken. Minimal breakfast of a cup of coffee, heaping tablespoons of sugar, and a plain bagel. No time to toast bread; I had work soon. Keep up routine as much as possible; reduce stress wherever and whenever possible. Stress and anxiety can lead to a relapse. I would _not_ go spiraling down that dark abyss again. No light at the end, no reason reaching my ears; just the uncontrollable _need_ for an outside substance in order to make myself feel better. Take something from out there, put it in here, and feel better; in reality far worse. I would not break routine; my daily rituals were important to my sanity. Kept the need in check. I had been cleaned for a few months short of a year now; nothing would change that. Absolutely nothing.

Knowing about it all, _why did Morgan see fit use the last of the sugar?_

"Uh… Morgan?" I turned to my companion upon realization that the break room seemed to lack any trace of my sugary addiction. The one that never sent me into rehab.

"What is it, Reid?" Morgan turned to me, just finishing up stirring in the last bit of sugar into his own cup. An empty packet lay on the counter buy his side.

Did I just twitch? "Morgan, there's no more sugar left."

"Yeah, I just used the last of it, wh…" A look of realization dawned over Morgan's eyes, slightly wider then they had been a half a second before. He looked down at the cup in his hands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Nervous, "Oh man… sorry Reid, I forgot how much you love sugar. How about we switch? I can deal with just creamer." Morgan then held the cup out towards me with one hand, the other reaching towards the cup in my own hands.

"No, it's fine…" I sighed and shook my head. It had been pure cane sugar too… I walked passed Morgan and out of the break room with my unsweetened pure black coffee and began to make my way towards the desk. Thirty-two folders of paperwork… a new record, even for the BAU. I turned my head to the side, craning my neck for a moment to get a look at the piles on the others desks. Significantly shorter, maybe around ten. _'Figures…'_ I thought, sighing as I sat down, _'Pile the paperwork on the only one who can read twenty-thousand words a minute and uses words in normal speech you'd only find in a dusty copy of Webster's…'_ Sometimes my teammates could be so predictable. Ever since Elle had started the trend oh so long ago, the rest of them usually slipped me a couple of their folders after every case. Granted, I could still get them done in half the time it took for them to finish their's, but it was still vaguely annoying.

To further compound on my paperwork predicament, Hotch came out of his office with a hard look on his face. That determined, tunnel-vision look that told the rest of us only one thing; we have a case. I had not even sat down in my chair when he came out, a large manila folder in his hands. In fact, I was caught halfway kneeling into the chair, about to set my 'coffee' – I shuddered at the thought of calling it thus, unsweetened as it was – down on my desk. The others looked up at him with expressions that mirrored mine; though their's lacked the relief at an opportunity to put off the paperwork for at least a little bit longer.

"New case; up to the round-table room," was all that left our bosses lips before he turned heel and went right back up the stairs. That phrase 'round-table room'… what was the BAU, King Arthur's Knights? What would that make Hotch; King Arthur?

It took me a moment to realize I had just made somewhat of a joke. Too bad Morgan wasn't a Betazoid.

Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, J.J, and I made our way up to the room in question. Being the last one in, I wondered what the faces of shock on my partners were for. Then I saw the pile. Boxes stacked high on the table, manila folders and pictures spread all around the open space. Most of the pictures were covered by folders, but my mind saw all; little hands sticking out from the corners of the folders. Children? No, younger…

Babies.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joesph Hotch!" Morgan exclaimed as he attempted to find an open spot at the table. The rest of us found seats; I, being the last in, got the seat behind all the boxes. It took only seconds for me to resign to standing.

Emily picked up a nearby folder, eying it suspiciously, "I thought you said we had _'a'_ case, Hotch."

"You're right," Hotchner nodded, setting down his folder, "This is all from one case."

"Seriously?" Morgan leaned back a bit, "Damn, this one's gonna be a bad one, isn't it?"

"Seventeen murders over a thirteen year period," Hotch explained, "All newborns. Coroner reports state that they were all barely hours old, but every one had take a breath, thus making this murder."

That wasn't completely right… "Actually, there are differing opinions as to what constitutes a 'first breath'. There are also several bills being pushed through in many states to classify the murder of an unborn child… well, a murder. One case is that of Oregon, where–"

"Not now, hot shot," Morgan interrupted.

Hotch let out a breath, shaking his head. Emily shifted somewhat restlessly, looking across the table at Hotch, "… It took thirteen years for all these murders to be connected? Why?"

"They were spread out all over the country; it isn't until lately that they've begun to be centralized. Each murder had a completely different MO minus a few common details. After the local police began to notice a connection, forensic testing found something else."

"What was it?" Rossi leaned forward somewhat, placing his elbows on the the table on top of some of the folders.

"All the victims were found about nine months from each other, give or take a few weeks or so. They all… had the same mother, but no two had the same father," Hotchner looked down at the folders. He reached up and, with both hands, began to clear off some of the folders that covered the bulk of the pictures.

"Oh my… oh my god!" J.J.'s eyes widened and she near immediately turned away.

There were dozens of pictures. Red stains everywhere. Some were hung from trees, others drowned… even more butchered, dismembered… like animals. All newborn babes; though at this point only a few could recognizably be called thus. Cuts and bruises marred the bodies and all were a ghostly pale, as if they had been drained of their blood. From some of the photos… it was obvious where that missing blood had gone.

Even I looked away, knowing that those images would still stay in my mind forever. Under the table, my hands were clenched into tight fists, my knuckles turning as pale at the dead babes.

"Evidence… evidence suggests that all of the… the victims were killed via some sort of injection, overdose, or the presence of something to numb the body completely. In all the cases, death would have been… painless. The bruises, cuts and… the rest were all done post-mortem," Hotchner placed the folders back on the table, this time in a stack. The pictures still shone through clear as day.

It was silent for a moment before I heard Rossi speak up from next to Hotch, "… Where are we heading? You said that the murders had begun to be centralized."

"Las Vegas, Nevada," Hotchner said quietly, "The last victim was found there about eight and a half months ago."

"Why weren't we on this sooner, then?" Emily crossed her arms, trying hard not to look at the table. Those pictures were absolutely horrific, even for us.

Hotchner shook his head once more, as if to chase something out of his head, "The murders had begun to be centralized in and around Las Vegas, that much is true… but the local police thought that they could handle it; they didn't know about the other cases."

"Just how many were discovered in that area?" Rossi asked.

"Six," Hotchner said, looking down at the photos, "And at the moment, it seems we are due for number seven."

"That can't be it, Hotch," Morgan said, leaning forward, "Why'd they ask for us now, if there had already been _six murders_?"

"This," Hotchner reached into one of the boxes – I saw, for a brief moment, that they were mostly more files and photos – and pulled out a folded paper, "It was left stuck in the door of the Las Vegas Police Department… along with a missing part… of the seventeenth victim." it was small, like a letter without an envelope. He set it on the table and soon thereafter Morgan picked it up. He slowly unfolded it and stared. I could see his dark eyes running through it line by line. Once they had reached the bottom, he set the letter down. Morgan shook his head, raising a hand to cover his eyes. No one did anything, so I slowly reached for the open letter and began reading it out loud.

"We are the shadows. They are our light, our sun children. We do not want the sun; we need the darkness. The moon. They are failures, expendable. The Holy mother awaits her dark lover at the place where it all began. None of Our number have proved worthy to be the father of the messiah. How could you Lessers not have realized the coming is upon You? Perhaps it is the Mere fact you are unevolved, unable to piece together the mysteries and secrets, the codes by which we abide. She is Ours. Seventeen sun children you have found; Two more still lie Here rotting with us. Bastard twins of the others, Earthen ones. Another has nearly come to fruition; soon there will be twenty on your hands. You should Rejoice, for Now is the time! Why do you Each not see it yet? Must we lead you on by hand? Yes, yes, it seems so. Your vision is clouded, the Peripheral abolished. Send them; your best. Your brightest. May they see with their own eyes the truth. May they be Holy to be It. One among them is worthy of being the dark patriarch. One with a mind that excels those of our number. Knowledge is power; it is Love; it is all.

Send them; you want us stopped, do you not? What we do in It's name, no Matter how noble and god-sent our mission is, it is against the principles of your society. Stop us, if you can! Entertain us, if you will!

We will not falter. We will not stop. We will _never_ fail.

Ut locus qua is totus coepi. Ut locus qua is totus coepi. Ut locus qua is totus coepi. Ut locus qua is totus coepi. Ut locus qua is totus coepi. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI. UT LOCUS QUA IS TOTUS COEPI.

I am the oracle."

Things became very silent after I finished reading the letter. Something was bothering me about that letter. Besides the obviously insane matter in which it was written. Something about it… I felt like I was missing something very important. My brows pulled together in utter frustration. It was almost like a message was aimed directly for me and I just wasn't catching it before it slipped through my fingers. Was it the wording? Something this person had written? Did I recognize the handwriting? _'No'_ I quickly rationalized, _'With my memory, there is no way I would forget something like that… maybe…'_

"… I maybe be going on a limb to say this guys, but I think that we're dealing with some sort of cult," Morgan said, first to break the silence.

Hotch pushed his chair back as he stood; I jumped at the noise, "There is still more in Las Vegas that we haven't seen yet. Let's head out." He turned and left without another word.

Emily was next to stand. Then J.J., next Rossi, and finally Morgan. I stayed seated until Morgan prodded my shoulder. Something really did bother me about that letter.

"Come on, Reid," Morgan nodded towards the door, "Get home and back. I'm thinking Hotch is gonna want us gone as soon as possible. This one's bad, and who knows when the next baby is going to show up."

"Yeah…"

Nothing escapes Morgan with it comes to behavior. _My_ behavior in particular, "What's wrong, Reid?"

"Nothing…" I stood up, shaking my head as we left the room, "I just feel like I recognize something about that letter, is all." I put a hand on my chin, looking down as I made my way to the elevator.  
There was precious time to pack.

I would have to ask Garcia to throw my coffee out for me.

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Only the bare essentials. It's not like I would need much more on this trip. Hopefully we could solve this case as soon as possible. It was not like I didn't like to visit my hometown every once in a while. It was just hard sometimes. Hard to bring up the memories I could never seem to run away from. Never seem to forget, no matter how much I tried.

Sometimes being a genius is a bad thing.

We were on the plane now; everyone was here but Garcia, who stayed back in Quantico as usual. J.J. had left Henry with Will. She was originally going to stay behind, but I think after reviewing the case further she realized that this was a big one. If anything got out to the press, anything at all, there would be a nationwide media uproar. Unstoppable, in most cases. Thanks fully the LVPD had been able to keep it under wraps as best they could.

"I swear to god, Reid, you cheat!" Morgan threw his cards down on the table. Rossi and J.J. were asleep and the rest of us were playing poker. I had one every hand thus far, and that fact was starting to grate on Morgan's nerves.

I sighed, "Card games are simple mathematics, Morgan. One of the PhD's happens to be in Mathematics. It does not go too far to say that I would be good at cards. It's all numbers."

"I KNEW IT!" Morgan roared.

Emily smacked him in the arm, "Morgan, keep your voice down!"

"He's counting cards!" Morgan waved a finger at me. It was so childish I had to resist the urge to laugh. In response to his accusation, I merely smiled lopsidedly like usual.

"It's more then that," I explained, "The behavior of the other players, the number of cards dealt minus the cards I have and their types gives me the probability of who has what. As the game progresses, these probabilities grow and thus, if you know what you're doing, then poker becomes easy. Of course, that is only one of many methods that insure success in card games."

Morgan huffed and threw his cards down, getting up to go lay down on one of the couches. I could tell he wasn't really mad; just acting thus for some mischievous end, I was sure. "Yeah, well… you can't play video games to save you're life and they are far better anyway."

"Au Contraire," I shook my head lightly despite the fact he could no longer see me, "I am quite good as the roleplaying video game genre, the action, adventure, and horror genres. Many others as well, just not shooters. Any game can be dissected in the mind to provide an adequate and easy solution to any given problem or puzzle. Much like–"

He groaned, "Reid, seriously man… _shut up_."

Emily giggled next to me and I felt the familiar rush of heat to my face. I looked down at the cards in my hand, embarrassed. I really wasn't that annoying, was I? I tired not to be, but it seemed that – at least to Morgan – my attempts were failures before they had even begun. _'Ah, there's the rub'_ I thought, shaking my head lightly. The card game had dissolved into nothingness and soon Emily was asleep in her chair. Hotch was putting the cards away and looked like he could use some rest as well. I sighed; something was keeping me up. What was it again? Oh yes; that letter. I knew it from somewhere. It was vital, I know… where I had I seen it before? Something like it maybe? The handwriting was straight and appeared right handed, though towards the end it was almost as if the writer had lost themselves for a moment before regaining composure for the last line. What was it about that letter? Where had I…?

It then hit me like a ton of bricks. I jumped up and all but flew to the end of the cabin, where the boxes were stowed away. Ripping open the top one, I found the letter sitting neatly on top; just where it had been packed. I tore it open and stared at the writing. How could I have not seen it before? How could I have not realized? It was two much of a coincidence.

First, the murders had been happening within the last thirteen years.

Second, the epicenter of murders was my hometown of Las Vegas.

Third, the end of the letter… it was written in the same manic hand as the symbols all over the walls in _her_ house.

Lastly, there were many words capitalized that did not need to be at all. Many of them made no sense whatsoever. After taking the capitalized letter of each word, I could see what they wanted us to see. The 'secret'.

"Hotch, we'll be landing soon. Get everyone up; I think I've found something."

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**Author's Note:** Yay, Chapter One is out! A little longer then before… I'm happy, two reviews by my finishing of this! And 80 something hits! WOOT~ Keep it up guys, keep it up. It makes me happy, and a happy me means more chapters. Send more reviews to get more chapters! It's also 12:18 am when I write this. O.o Oh, find the Shakespeare reference and get a cameo of a character of your choice! No Gideon though; I've got plans for him. I'm beginning to think this should be rated M… especially later. Feedback, onegaishimasu?

**CHAPTER TWO PREVIEW**

_"We have to reopen the Christenson Case, Reid. What you found links it to the newborns."_

_"Maybe… maybe not"_

_"Look, with the wide range that the bodies are found, you can pretty damn well bet that this cult is National. Hopefully not International, or we're screwed."_

_"Fine…"_

_"Come on, Spence, it'll be okay."_

_'Why won't people just let it go? Why can't the past stay what it is; the past?'_


	3. Be Careful What You Wish For

**Author's Note:** How was everyone's Fourth of July? I got to shoot off a bunch of fireworks that may or may not have been legal here in the Northwest. Shhh! Don't tell anyone! ^^ Anyway, I've been busy and for that I apologize. I try to make each chapter seven pages long in my program Atlantis in courier new ten-point format. I was also off with Muse number 1337 for the holiday weekend, so yeah~ Review please or I shall add angst! Wait… some of you undoubtably want angst… erm…

**Disclaimer:** I own the Moonlight, Sunlight, Oblivion, and Sacrifice Chronicles. Some other minors things and characters too. I also own the cult in this little fanfic, Children of Set. Nephilim too, I guess. Do I own Criminal Minds? I wish. No, CM is owned by CBS and the characters are represented by their respective actors. I most DEFINITELY don't own the FBI BAU. ^^;;

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Chapter Two

**Be Careful What You Wish For**

"_The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, nor  
touched ...but are felt in the heart."_

– _Helen Keller_

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He couldn't. Why couldn't everything be just left in the past? Why this, why now? Yes, I had been the one to find the initial connections and yes, further research and digging did lead to more connections. I know it is childish of me… but I didn't want to open up that part of my life again. My childhood was already a touchy topic as is. As such, I wanted no part of it.

But even then, how could I not? These people were my family; I could never abandon them. And the Christenson's… they were my family as well. If this could somehow bring the culprit to justice, how could I not want to be a part of it? In truth, I want to be the one to slap on the handcuffs. If it came to it – I didn't want to admit it – I want to be the one to administer the lethal injection. A part of me, however small it was wanted to put a bullet through them. Because no one knew better then I what had happened. Thanks to my freakish mind, those images would never leave me. No wonder I had such an easy time with crime scene's. They would haunt me later, yes, but I had seen worse. Oh, I had seen worse.

As I sat in the hotel room I shared with Morgan, the events of that day raced through my minds. Like a film being playing in perfect High-Definition.

_"We have to reopen the Christenson Case, Reid. What you found links it to the newborns."_

Hotchner had the case reopened. What I had found during that sleepless night on the plan… after looking at the evidence, it was plan as day. Garcia had even been looking up what else she could. And yet, I had still been stubborn and adamant; selfish as it was, I didn't want to see those pictures again. Be _questioned_ again. I would have to be; I _was_ the one who found the bodies, after all.

_"Maybe… maybe not"_

_"Look, with the wide range that the bodies are found, you can pretty damn well bet that this cult is National. Hopefully not International, or we're screwed."_

_"Fine…"_

_"Come on, Spence, it'll be okay."_

A cult. That's what the others had come up with. A cult. The Christensons – Nephilim – had been butchered liked animals for some sadistic cultist purpose. It just didn't make sense; there had never been a case of a satanic ritualistic murder in the United States. Then again, this cult wasn't necessarily Satanic. I knew that my feelings were clouding my judgment; I wasn't stupid enough to deny that. But why them? Sense dictates that if you want to take someone for a ritualistic murder, you don't take them out of a high-class gates community in the middle of a city, you take the lone jogger out in the woods. What possible reason could anyone have had to target them?

_"How do you even know it's a cult?!"_

I wasn't usually so adamant; out of most of the team, I liked to think myself the most logical. After doing some digging, Garcia had found nothing on the children. Nothing whatsoever. No DNA in the system, not even a parental or sibling match to any database. As if these newborns had appeared out of thin air. She had found out, however, that with the few commonalities between the crime scenes, there was one inherently ritualistic; incense, candles, and strange symbols. Further research and analysis proved it to be Egyptian in origin, meaning Children of Set. And that saying at the end of the letter… Ut locus qua is totus coepi; "The place where it all began" in Latin. Where it began… did it mean here? _Vegas?_

Children of Set… Set, the Egyptian God of darkness, chaos, storms, and the desert. Nephilim and her parent's had been Catholic; she had gone to a private Catholic school once when she was little, before her weak body forced her education to be in the form of homeschooling. She had a love for the culture of Japan. Egypt was another, yes, but didn't hold a flame to her love for Asia. So what could possibly be the connection…?

"Reid!" My head snapped up at the voice. It was Morgan; he was standing in the hotel room doorway, looking down at me. I sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands. I needed to think… "Reid? Hotch got something from Garcia. He wants everyone together for it; says it's important. I think Garcia might have found something about one of the victims."

Why was it so hard to call them 'victims'? Was it because of their age; or lack thereof? The brutal nature of the crimes, all the while being done completely post mortem? It just… didn't feel right. Having life snuffed out before it even had the chance to begin.

"Oh… alright…" I forced myself off the bed and went for my amethyst scarf.

Morgan patted my back as he led me out of the room, "Man, you look like shit. Didn't sleep at all, did you?"

How could I? Seventeen dead newborns with – according to the letter – another two that hadn't been found and a possibly twentieth soon to join them. That many lives… all tied somehow to a friend I had in the past. The letter matched 'handwriting' left at the Christenson murder… _Holy Mother Nephilim_, the message left hidden in the letter. How could anyone, no matter their experience level, sleep after that?

My eyes had deep purple shadows beneath them; my usually well-kept hair was disheveled from tossing in bed. At least I had _tried_ to sleep, even if that sweet release continued to elude me. I hadn't even changed since we got off the plane a few hours earlier. Not even any coffee or sugar in my system to keep me going like usual. I was a wreck. Once I knew sleep was to evade me, I did the only thing I knew how; research. Anything and everything I could, from the important to the mundane. I wasn't any Penelope Garcia, but it made me feel better. Less helpless; more in control.

"No," A simple, one-worded answer to fit my exhausted state. Morgan sighed and led me out to our rental car. The ride from there to the Las Vegas Police Department was uneventful and boring; Morgan was driving. The team seldom trusted me behind the wheel, and with good reason. There are many things I know and many things I can do that most can't; driving is not one of them. So it gave me time, once again, to think. If Hotchner had found something, then what? We would still need to interview suspects and witnesses, compile evidence, et cetera. Interviewing… I had already been on the side of the interviewee once on this case; an experience I was loath to repeat.

_"Now, I know this is hard for you–"_

_"With all do respect, sir; I am going off to college soon. I am a high school graduate. Please, please do not treat me like I am a child."_

_"I understand, Spencer, but if you would tell us once more-"_

I had been suspect number one; the police had nothing else to go on. The genius best friend of the little girl who had just graduated high school and had a family history of mental illness. The first time I was in that interview room I was there for over _twenty-four hours_. It wasn't one of my mom's lucid times; she didn't come for me until the next day. At least I couldn't be a suspect in this one; if anyone even tried, they'd be loathe to find holes in my alibis. Such the upside of a eidetic memory; you remember every single detail, including places, dates, and times.

It wasn't long before we reached the precinct. I was out of the car before Morgan had even unbuckled his seat belt, striding towards the glass front doors. Two lefts and a right; I already had the entire building mapped out in my head. Two lefts and a right to the place the local police had given us to set up shop. Inside the small room was everyone else; I could even make out Garcia's face on a small laptop monitor. Her eyes immediately found me, and a slight shock went through my body at the look on her face.

Pity.

Sadness.

Her eyes looking directly into mine.

My eyes widened slightly as I fumbled a bit with the chair in front of me. Why that look? With a quick glance at the others – Emily, J.J, Morgan, Rossi, Hotch – I saw none of the others holding an even remotely similar expression. Had no one else been told yet? If Garcia had contacted Hotch, why wouldn't she tell him what she'd found and then he would tell us? Something was up…

"Garcia, baby, what do you got for us?" Morgan started after he'd sat down. I detected a tone of confusion in his voice; maybe he felt the same I did.

Garcia sighed, "I found a definitive link between the newborns and the Christenson case. Sorry, but I wanted to make sure Spence heard it from me and not someone else."

She never called me Spence; it was always some kind of nickname, Spencer, or just Reid. Her tone was surprising as well; serious, with a hint of the emotions running rampant on her face. Why would she want to make sure I heard whatever news she had from her? It had to do with the Christenson Case… had she found something on… Nephilim? Garcia's eyes never left me; pixelated versions of the real things staring right into my own. I squirmed in my seat, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Well, Garcia?" Hotch asked, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the computer screen.

Another sigh. "I didn't find a match in any database for the victims. I did find something else, though. It takes a while to search for a close parental match to seventeen victims through a dozen different databases, but I finally managed to find one."

"Who?" Rossi inquired.

"Patrick Smith, MD. He works for St. Mary Hospital, the new one in Spring Valley, Nevada. It seems he was quite the raucous teenager," Garcia explained, "He is a positive match to the seventeenth victim; there is no doubt he is her father."

"Nice work Garcia," Hotch nodded. Was that it? Why would all of us have to come for something like this? It didn't seem like something Garcia absolutely needed to make sure I heard from her. The father of one of the newborns… it wasn't like she had found anything in regards to the Christenson case, either. Hadn't she said she had? "J.J, I want you and Rossi to go talk to Doctor Smith. Meanwhile-"

"Um… Um, Hotch," Garcia interrupted from the computer. He stopped talking and looked at her, eyebrows raised faintly, "There's something else. The connection to the Christenson case."

"Alright, what is it?"

"Well, Dr. Smith was the Christenson's family doctor; he took care of their daughter, Nephilim, her whole life…" That was _him_?! I took in a sharp breath. I _remembered_ him. Short with crew-cut brown hair and hazel eyes. A little on the plump side… He played cards with Nephilim and I on few times when me coming over accidentally coincided with one of his home visits.

Hotchner's eyes flicked to me for just a second, "And, Garcia?"

"Spence," Garcia closed her eyes for a moment, biting her lip. It had gotten tense; out of everyone there, Garcia was always the last to be visibly effected by anything. She always tried to keep on a happy face for the others. "Spence," she repeated, opening her bright eyes slowly, "I decided I should check. I didn't think that… it would…" Garcia was visibly struggling with words. She sighed again and shook her head.

"Just spit it out, babe," Morgan said in his best reassuring voice.

"Spence, the hospital records had Nephilim's DNA from all her tests on file," She said quietly, "Even a karyotype had been done. I… cross-referenced them to the other data and found something."

She fell silent. A second went by – why didn't she just say it? – before I opened my mouth, "Come on, Garcia; what is it?"

"…" She seemed to be shuffling around papers in front of her, breaking eye contact with all of us, "I got some matches."

My eyes widened as far as they could, all traces of exhaustion wiped from my features. She had found something on her? Had her body finally been found? Maybe I could finally put it all behind me, finally get some closure and… wait… "_some_ matches?"

"… Nephilim is the biological mother of all seventeen known victims," Garcia said slowly. She then started to gush out, "Oh Spencer, I was scared to tell you, but wanted you to hear from me. From what you told us, it seemed you were really close to her. I am so sorry, Spence… Spencer?!"

I was already out of the room. What was this I was feeling? So many emotions, all bombarding my senses all at once. Anger; anger at that doctor. If he was the father of one of the dead newborns, and Nephilim the mother… she would never consent to it. I don't know how I knew, I just did. That… that _monster_. Was he 'the oracle'?! Had he killed the Christenson's?!

Then relief. A relief so strong that I felt like I would collapse. She, as of nine months ago, was alive. Alive and breathing. According to the letter, another child was on the way. That meant… that she could still be alive, even now! Somewhere, some place, Nephilim was alive. Alive and – if the unsub was to keep their pattern – with child. But alive nonetheless.

An overwhelming sense of helplessness. Thirteen years had passed since the death of Leah and Micheal Christenson. This whole time, even in the absence of a body, everyone had believed her dead. Her body was weak; there was no way she could survive without medication. Maybe had I not given up on the search… maybe if I had done _something_, none of this would have happened. None of those children would have died.

Then there was one I could not place. Somewhere in the middle of a triangle of sadness, shock, and disgust. Seventeen children… that meant that their mother, Nephilim, had to have been pregnant one after another for nearly thirteen years. From the time she was _ten_. Was she raped? _'Of course… she wouldn't have…'_ My thoughts trailed off_._ Thirteen years… would she even look the same? Marred beyond recognition, body battered and broken from the weight of constant pregnancy? According to the letter, another child was on the way… that's meant that, somewhere, she was alive. Alive and carrying a possible twentieth child.

The largest and most frightening emotion that took an unshakable hold in my heart was rage. An undiluted, pure desire for destruction. To destroy anything, anyone, just to vent out the horrid twist of emotions surging unblocked through my veins. I was seeing red; my breath was hitched and labored. The fault line down the center of my body rippled from the sheer pain of my rage. Anger at myself, Nephilim, Smith, the BAU, cultists, the world, and all it's inhabitants. My fists were clenched so tightly that I felt a slight pinch as my nails cut into the flesh.

"Spence! Reid!"

"Let him go, J.J."

"And let him go assault our only lead?! Spencer!"

Someone put their hand on my arm; I twisted to tear myself away from their grasp. Assault the lead? Assault Smith? Not that bad of an idea, now that I thought on it… Another hand gripped my arm, harder this time. I couldn't shake it off so easily, so I swung around to face whomever it was, intent on getting them off of me.

"Reid, Reid, calm down," Morgan's grip on me arm tightened. I couldn't shake him off; no matter how enraged I was, Morgan was still physically stronger then me. So, with the ability to storm off gone, I took the first route to vent my feelings I saw.

Because of that, pain wracked through my hand as it came into contact with the wall.

"Jesus Christ, Reid!" Morgan swore as I collapsed into a heap on the ground, my left hand falling limp at my side. Broken; maybe. Sprained; possibly. Bruised? I would be feeling it for a while. Suddenly the others had me surrounded, all speaking at once to see if I was alright. I just sat there, looking numbly at my hand, still feeling all those emotions swirl around inside my body. More manageable, yes; gone, no.

"Reid, are you okay?" Emily asked from my left. I just nodded silently, still staring down at my hand.

Morgan released his death grip on my other hand and leaned back a bit more, "Didn't think you had that kinda reaction in you, Reid. Wouldn't be the first time you've surprised the hell outta me, but still…"

"Sorry…" I grimaced as I stood, flexing my fingers. They weren't broken or sprained; I wouldn't really be able to move them otherwise. Might have bruised the bone though.

"Let's have that hand looked at, Spence," J.J. smiled brightly, but somewhat wearily. Apparently my outburst had surprised them enough to overshadow what Garcia had told us.

"It's not broken or sprained; I'll be fine," I said through slightly clenched teeth, looking away from the blonde and back towards the meeting room. I could hear Garcia's faint voice from inside it, frantically asking Rossi what had happened, "We've got more important things to worry about."

"Listen Reid, we know that she's–" Morgan started, but I cut him off.

"It's not about her," Easier to lie to them then to myself. Hadn't I just barged out of the room in a rage _after_ being told that _Nephilim_ was the mother, not some other woman? We already knew that they all had the same mother, so… "There's not a lot of time. The last body was found about nine months ago. If… if she is the mother of _all_ of them, then it means that… that whomever is doing this is keeping her alive simply for the purpose of breeding." There you go, Reid… just fall back into your logical, intelligent self. Pure logic and information… "The letter said another one was on it's way. Think about it, Morgan; the average amount of gestation is nine months. It's been about nine months. We don't hurry, we'll most likely have another body on our hands."

Before any of the others could say anything else, Hotchner spoke up from behind me, "He's right. Morgan, Emily, I want you two to go and _talk_ to the Doctor. Rossi and I will dig into the Christenson case some more to see if we can find anything."

"I want to go too-"

Hotch cut me off abruptly, "No, Reid. J.J., take Reid to the hospital and get his hand checked out." I opened my mouth to protest, but he raised a hand to silence me, "I know _you_ are a doctor, Reid… but I'm sure we would all feel better if you got your hand looked at by a _medical_ doctor."

I resigned and sighed, shaking my head silently. J.J. began to lead me down the corridor until Hotch stopped her, "Wait, J.J."

"Yeah, Hotch?"

"Take him somewhere _other_ then St. Mary's."

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**Author's Note:** Reid might have seemed a little OOC in this chapter… but it's not without reason. I tried to think of what he would act like if… say… his mother was kidnapped and tortured like Tobias did to him or something like that. I dunno. ^^;; Anyway, that's chapter two! Stay tuned for chapter three, my lovlies!

**CHAPTER THREE PREVIEW**

_"We barely had to flash our badges before he spilled. Told us everything her knew."_

_"Wasn't much, though… except…"_

_"Dr. Smith did tell us that the Children of Seth's Holy Mother **is** here in Las Vegas."_

_"Anything else?"_

_"Yeah; he told us where they are."_


	4. Holy Mother

**Author's Note:** Herro, my loverlies! How have you all been? I've been good~ Doing full game fandubs of Final Fantasys and directing a radioplay I wrote. Busy busy… cosplay too. Ah, I am such an anime and manga freak. 3 But anyway! REVIEWS! Hand 'em over! I wanna know the who, what, where, when, and how you'd like to see. Want Gideon to make an appearance? Ask! Well, he may anyway… but not the point! ^^ Oh, and if you ever feel this fanfic should change rating, tell me as well!

**Disclaimer:** I wish.

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Chapter Three

**Holy Mother**

'_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me.'_

– Psalm 23:4_, The Holy Bible_

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"I told you-"

"If you say 'I told you so' Reid, so help me God I will…"

I sighed as J.J.'s threat trailed off. There was nothing wrong with my hand, a fact I already knew from the moment it impacted the walls of the Las Vegas Police Department. Hotchner had order J.J. to take me to the hospital for no reason whatsoever, as it turned out. Precious time wasted on a doctor visit that could have been spent out finding the unsub. My rather abundant logical side knew that until Morgan and Emily finished interviewing Dr. Smith, we had no new leads, yet my more… _emotional_ side just wanted to find the unsub and lead us straight to Nephilim. So many questions stirred around in my head, all compounded by my own intelligence bringing out even more. So many questions and not a single answer. Seventeen dead newborns; nineteen, if you counted those talked of in the letter. And a twentieth on the way… was there a specific number the unsub was trying to reach? What were his goals? Why her?

That's why I wanted to be in the room with Morgan and Emily. I wanted to _know_. I wanted this man to tell me _everything_. I wanted…

"Spence? Spence, we're back," J.J. tapped on my shoulder and I looked up at her. She had a small smile on her face, the kind of reassuring one she usually puts on when at a loss for anything else to do. I just sighed and opened the car door slowly, hoisting myself out into the warm Nevada air. J.J. got out as well, and the two of us walked back into the precinct. There were times when I wondered about her… how she could do this job so easily even though she had a newborn son at home, so far away. I was no good with kids, something my colleagues affectionately call the 'Reid Effect', so I couldn't even begin to understand what a parent must go through under normal circumstances. Even my own childhood left me with little idea; my parents were a far cry from what could be considered 'normal'. How did she do it? Leaving for work every day to leave young Henry in the care of a sitter – since Will was an agent too – and have little idea if you would be whisked off to the other side of the country… or worse, if you would come home at all. How could she bear it?

J.J. turned to smile at me once more when we got to the small room that the local PD had given us to work in. Hotchner and Rossi were there, pouring over papers from the plethora of evidence and reports from both the Christenson case and the one the media had dubbed the 'BabyKiller'. _Someone_ had leaked to the press about the case and it's international connection; reporters were _everywhere_ now. Clamoring to get even the slimmest bit of information regarding a case this big. I couldn't help but feel sorry for J.J.; she would be busy with this one. A nationwide press conference… I shuddered at the mere thought of speaking publicly in front of that many people.

"Found anything?" She asked Hotch and Rossi, the former just shaking his head while the latter looked up at her rather lazily, "Not yet. We're waiting on word from Morgan and Emily."

"Well, it seems that the unsub only let's out his aggression postmortem rather then when the victim is alive," I said quietly, sitting down next to Rossi, "The victim dies from a lethal dose of the Barbituate derivative Methohexital, suggesting that the unsub either has access to it or is getting the drug off the black market."

"There's the good doctor," Rossi said quietly.

Hotchner nodded; he flipped out his phone and dialed quickly, "Garcia? I need you to look up St. Mary's records. Anything that has to do with Methohexital, specifically who it's been prescribed to, what doctors have prescribed it, if any stock has gone missing, et cetera. Go back the last thirteen years, if you can…" She must have said something to him, but Hotch looked over at me quickly, "Yes, he is, why?" A sigh escaped him and Hotch shook his head, "Alright, but make it short, okay? I am expecting Morgan or Emily to call soon."

My eyebrows shot up as he handed the phone across the table to me. Looking at him incredulously, I saw him mouth 'She wants to talk to you' and sighed. I picked up the phone and said a rather apprehensive "Hello?"

Then it began, "Reid, I am so sorry! I saw you go storming out of the room, then heard this bang and… and… oh, I am so sorry! I called Derek and all he told me was J.J. was taking you to the hospital! Are you okay? Please, please tell me you're okay. I would feel so bad if you broke yourself or the precinct because of what I said! Oooh it was so stupid of me to tell you! I should have… I dunno, done something different! Spence, honey, I am so-"

"It's okay, I'm alright Garcia," I sighed again, shaking my head with the ghost of a grin present on my face. Penelope Garcia, the 'Mother Hen' of the BAU, "Just hit a wall."

My attempt to calm her was a waste after my last few words, "Hit a wall?! Oh my god, Reid, is your hand okay? I didn't know you would react so strongly… you're usually so cool and awkward… I am so sorry! Is anything broken, honey? Please, please tell me you're–"

"I thought I already said I was okay, Garcia," I sighed, "There's no break; Hotch just wanted to make sure, so he had J.J. drive me to the hospital." Before Garcia could sling another plethora of apologies, I handed the phone back to Hotchner and gave another sigh.

Rossi, on the other hand, looked amused. Before he could comment, I tactfully decided to leave with the excuse of checking up on Morgan and Prentiss. However, I soon found out that I didn't have too; seconds after leaving the room I turned the corner and found myself suddenly on the ground. A slight hiss escaped me as I landed – rather awkwardly – on my bruised hand.

"Oh damn, Reid. Twice in one day?" I looked up to see Morgan standing above me, his arm outstretched. I took it slowly and he pulled me up a little too quickly; I stumbled right into him. Morgan chuckled and I attempted to glare; not something I'm known to be good at, "Whoa, boy. I like you, but I don't _like_ you." And… there it goes; I felt my face warm up and I quickly stepped back. He, being the man that he was, laughed at the look on my face, causing my cheeks to darken further, "Hey, relax man. I was just joking. Anyway, were's Hotch and Rossi?"

"In there," I pointed to the room the two were in. Morgan and Emily started down the hallway before I could even register it; which is pretty fast, "Wait, did you find anything out?"

Morgan swung open the door and Emily and I followed him in, "Hotch, Dr. Smith is in custody now; we barely had to flash our badges before he spilled. Told us everything her knew." He smirked.

"Well?" Hotchner set down his papers and looked at the two of them, "What did you find out?"

"Wasn't much, though… except… He was the family doctor for the Christenson family," Morgan said as he and Emily took seats at the table; I was much too tense at the moment, "He said that a man named Xavier Reynolds approached him and said he would give him ten-thousand dollars yearly for anything and everything regarding Nephilim Christenson's condition. The good doctor agreed and reportedly gave him the information until Nephilim was ten years old, a little while before her eleventh birthday. Then the Christenson's were killed and Nephilim went missing; according to the doctor, she was taken shortly after he had reported to Reynolds that Nephilim had…"

"… reached puberty and started having her period," Emily finished for him. She sighed and continued, "After that, the doctor swears he never heard from him again until seven years ago, when Reynolds showed up, willing to pay a quarter of a million dollars for semen samples from the St. Mary's sperm bank. The donors had to match a specific height, weight, hair color, eye color, hair _length_, IQ, and multiple other factors."

"Do you have a list of these characteristics?" Hotch asked as he placed his chin in his hands.

"No; he only told us the ones he could remember," Emily shook her head, "He said he couldn't even remember the exact measurements and numbers, either. When Reynolds found out that Dr. Smith fit these requirements, he paid an extra ten thousand for Dr. Smiths' sperm. He described Reynolds as neurotic and paranoid but with enough money to give his receptionist a fifty to let him talk to Smith when he was in the middle of a patient consultation."

"Anything else?" Hotchner questioned.

Prentiss nodded and pulled out a list; a list of seven locations in Las Vegas, "He told us where they probably are."

"Dr. Smith did tell us that the Children of Seth's Holy Mother **is** here in Las Vegas.I already gave Garcia the addresses he gave us of where they may be and told her to cross-reference them to the locations of the crime scenes and anything else she could think of," Morgan said, "Right now, the LVPD is interrogation Smith to see if they can get anything else out of–"

"Hold on," My eyes widened as I stared at the addresses on the paper, "This address…" I pointed to the seventh on the list, "… it's the address of Nephilim's house."

"What?" Morgan looked over at the paper, "He told us it was a church."

"I heard that someone had bought her house and had it converted into a church," I said quickly, averting my eyes. Suddenly it felt hard to get air, like there was a weight on my chest. It never occurred to me… I had never even thought that it was suspicious that once the house was put up for sale – the Christenson's didn't have any close relatives that could take it – that it would be bought. The same day even…

"Then the church will be the first place we look," Hotchner stated, standing up along with Rossi and Morgan.

"Wait, what-" All of a sudden, I felt my cellphone vibrate, nearly making me jump in surprise. The others stared as I flipped it open and answered it with a slow "… hello?"

"You are too slow, Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid," Came a deep, obviously electronically modified voice from the other end, "She has been in labor for fourteen hours already. Have you found Smith yet? That man had no spine, no spirit… his child proved the least worthy of all the Children of the Sun. What about our lovely church? Have you found it yet? Hopefully you will soon…" There was a loud, raspy scream from the other end. The phone slipped from my hand and fell to the floor as my eyes widened. That scream… I knew it. I had heard it before, whenever needles got close to her. Nephilim had always been quite phobic of needles…

Morgan reached down and grabbed the phone, pressing the speaker button on it, "Ah, judging by that noise, I would say you got the message. As you no doubt know by now, she is with me. We are at the church; you have one hour before we move her. I suggest you hurry."

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At first, the team tried to convince me to stay behind, but anyone that saw the look on my face after that call ended quickly retracted their objections. Nothing could stop me from going to that church; not after everything that had happened.

So here we were; Hotch was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and the others minus Garcia and J.J. were in the back. Behind us was a few police cars and an ambulance. He had said she was in labor… and that scream… none of us were taking any chances.

It was darkening outside, just after sunset. It stared out of the window, my eyes unfocused and staring at the blurred city illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights. I tuned out the sirens, the noise, even those who were asking if I was okay. I just needed to think; that's what I was good at. However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pin my thoughts down. They sped along faster then the black van in which I was buckled. Bombarded with worries, passing thoughts, wishes… and images. My imagination was drumming up different pictures; how she would look if we found her, if she was even alive… Then there was my memories. Pictures and images burned into my mind of the time I had walked into her home just to say hello and to tell her that I had gotten accepted into my favorite college. First I had seen a trail of red; being the child I was, I followed it… and found them. That image of their bodies, contorted and nailed to makeshift crossed in their own living room… a vision to haunt my dreams just as my capture at the hands of Tobias had. Even worse were the dreams in which they all melded together… the ones where _I_ was the one nailed to the cross, needles in my arm… with an unquenchable thirst for more. Those ones scared me the most.

Then, as my saving grace from these horrifying thoughts, we reached it. The house had not changed that much on the outside… the same white fence, the same porch, the same flowerbeds. The only difference was one window; boarded up so not a slice of light could get through. My mind conjured up images of myself on those steps, of Nephilim and her family tending to the garden. Just as my mind registered them, they were gone.

The car came to a halt and I threw myself from it, gun already in hand. The others were slower, but not by much. Once Hotchner came out of the car, he began directing everyone, "Prentiss, Rossi, you take some of the officers and make your way to the rear. Prentiss, take the left, Rossi, the right. Morgan, Reid, and the others… you're with me." We all nodded and set off. As quickly as possible, we went through the fence and up the steps, taking places on either side of the door, guns drawn. There were voices from the inside. One strong male voice and other voices chanting after him. Morgan looked at Hotchner, who nodded his head quickly. He then reached out and tried the door; locked. With another look at Hotchner – who once again nodded – Morgan walked back a few steps before running forward, kicking the door open. Within seconds the rest of us filed in, guns drawn.

For a moment, I was stunned. The entryway, which usually was stairs and a hallway, had expanded to encompass the entire house. Like all the walls in the ground floor had been taken away and all that was left besides the four outer walls was the stairs leading up and the stairs leading down into the basement. There was what could be only described as pews throughout the room, all pointed towards the far back, where there was some sort of altar with a large stone statue of Set behind it. The altar held a bloody bundle.

We were too late.

"HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!" Morgan shouted to those near the altar. There was five people; one of which was behind the altar. He wore bloody purple robes.

"My brethren, they have come to disturb the Holy Mother on her Birthing Day!" The robed one yelled over Morgan, pointing at use accusingly, "The Oracle told us to protect her at all costs! For Set!"

"FOR SET!" The others chanted, swerving around to meet us, every one of them with guns in hand.

My eyes didn't even have time to widen. They began firing, but with our training, we were able to dodge behind the pews. I hit the floor and looked back automatically; not one was hit… yet. Morgan had taken shelter next to me, Hotch and another officer on the other side of the room. The rest hadn't even made it inside yet. Those by the altar continued firing; I could make out the sounds of them coming closer. There were shots fired from out of the windows – most likely Emily and Rossi – and I heard two go down. I jumped up, fired once, and hit the floor again; there went another. Morgan got one from under the pews; that left the robed one. He stopped shooting and for a moment everything was silent. Then, just as we began to come up from behind the pews, his eyes turned to me and he spoke.

"Well, so you are the one he spoke of," the robed man chuckled, "Spencer Reid. Hm… well, she will be left in good hands then. She will return in due time. In due time…" Then, before any of us could stop him, he turned the gun on himself and fired. I winced as he fell to the ground, clenching my eyes shut. We all stared for a moment, shocked at the scene that had just played out. Not two minutes had even passed since we'd gotten there, and five people were dead.

Then, after a moment, Hotchner spoke as he stood up slowly, "Is anyone hurt?"

"No, I don't… wait, Reid," Morgan looked down, "Your arm." I looked down at well; my left arm was soaked through the fabric of my shirt. Funny… I hadn't felt anything; it must have been the adrenalin. I pulled the fabric a bit to get a better look; a bullet had just barely grazed my arm; it was just a cut. It wouldn't hurt until later.

"I'm fine; it's just a scrape," I said quickly, covering it up again, "We need to make sure that there isn't anymore of them around."

Morgan looked skeptical, "Now, Reid…" Other officers were filing in and began to check the bodies. Hotch and Rossi were heading up the stairs while Prentiss and another officer were going downstairs. I just ignored Morgan and followed Prentiss, walking towards the downstairs. Both Morgan and I heardh er gasp and ran down the stairs, looking for Emily in the dim light.

"Prentiss, what-" Morgan stopped, his eyes wide.

I dropped my gun with a clatter. Or, it would have been a clatter if the floor wasn't sticky.

Sticky with blood.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from candles spanning the perimeter of the room. I took a step forward, trying and failing to understand all this. Nailed to the wall were two small coffins; the other two missing children. The walls, ceiling, and floor were painted dark red with patches of white hear and there. Or was it white with an ungodly amount of blood smeared all over it?

I took a step forward, my hands twitching. I shook my head slowly, looking up with wide eyes. This couldn't be possible. It just wasn't right. Who would _do_ this to another human being?

"What kind of sick _bastard_…"

Morgan's words echoed my thoughts exactly. My hand twitched forward, raising up just a bit as if to touch the scene before me, but being unable to do so. There it was again; that plethora of emotions from before. It was hard to keep the… the _rage_ in check. I wanted to hurt something; wanted to break something. It was inhuman…

The ankh was made of wood, kept in the wall by at least a dozen pegs as wide as a quarter. It spanned from the floor to the ceiling, encrusted with blood like a varnish. The small baby coffins were on either side of it, as if for some kind of sick protection. In front of the ankh was a large stone table, covered with candles and… tools. Medications, painkillers, the Methohexital… with a start I recognized one of the bottles as Dilaudid. The see-through liquid that haunted my nightmares, stalked my thoughts. It had nearly destroyed me so many times… and yet, the smallest, sickest part of me yearned for it's embrace. Something I would never be rid of. It wasn't hard to put two and two together. These were all use to subdue _her_.

Strapped to the ankh with rope was her body. Covered in bruises and lacerations, her hair matted and dull. Her stomach and legs were covered in blood… just covered. Her once bright white hair was dirty and stained with spots of red, hanging well below her hips. She wore nothing but the bruises and the blood. Her stomach… was flat.

I was right… we were too late.

Her chest wasn't rising, either…

"Reid, is that…?"

I only nodded, unable to speak. All I saw was red and white, staring at her pale, naked form, tied to the ankh like a sacrificial lamb.

"Is she dead, Prentiss?" Morgan asked quietly, eying me like I might collapse at any moment. I was surprised I hadn't. Shock alone was keeping the contents of my stomach in now.

She gently pushed by me and reached for her. Before she even touched her, there was a loud gasping sound. Prentiss jerked back, staring at her. I suddenly found myself staring into glossed-over, lifeless crimson irises. She gasped for breath, thrashing around weakly. I just stared, her eyes rooting me in my spot. Disbelief peppered my face as she became silent once more, her head falling forward, limp and unconscious again. There was a split second pause before our training kicked in.

"She's alive!"

"Get her off of that!"

Alive… alive… we had lost the baby and five of the inhuman bastards that had done this to her, but we also won.

Nephilim was alive.

______________________________________________________________________________

**Author's Note:** It's 4:12 am as I write this. . Been typing for hours… you all better enjoy this one! Because I said so~ Reviews needed because I also said so. Suggestions, critiwues, things you'd like to see stave off writer's block, you know! So, what do you all think? I tried to make it not too graphic… but then again, I am sick and twisted. _Thought_ about having Reid go into shock, but decided against it. I liked it better having Nephilim go into a fit while strapped to a giant ankh. By the way, the ankh is an eyptian symbol. Go look it up. ^^

**CHAPTER FOUR PREVIEW**

_"Reid, did you get that arm looked at?"_

_"I said I was fine; how is she?"_

_"Just got out of surgery not that long ago. Don't worry, it was nothing major; they just needed to fix the c-section those bastards had given her and give her some stitches. We're waiting on the doctor."_

_"Is a Spencer Reid here?"_

_"Yes; I am Spencer Reid. Can I see her?"_

_"She is asking for you; won't say anything but your name. Come with me; we had to give her a sedative because she had a fit, but she'll be waking up soon."_


	5. Profile

**Author's Note:** Somebody asked if they could translate Angelus Lacrima into Spanish! I am a happy writer right now 3 More reviews, please! They make me happy and a happy me equals more chapters out faster.

**Disclaimer:** I wish I could buy the rights to Criminal Minds but… wait, no I don't. Then I would have to direct it… and let's not mess with perfection, hmm? Anyway, I do not own anyone except Nephilim, the Children of Set, and the other OC characters in this fanfic… and stuff. ^^

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Four

**Profile**

"_To be able to destroy with good conscience, to be able to behave badly and call your bad behavior "righteous indignation" - this is the height of psychological luxury, the most delicious of moral treats"_

– _Aldous Huxley_

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"Reid, did you get that arm looked at?"

"I said I was fine and I was; how is she?" Morgan and I were in the hospital waiting room. The others were either processing the scene or looking into the background of the shooters. We were waiting to talk to Nephilim… well, Morgan was at least; I was pacing the room, unable to sit still. The paramedics wouldn't let me drive in the ambulance with her because of the extent of her injuries. On Hotch's order, Morgan drove me to the hospital to get my arm checked out and to stay there until she woke up. It was an excuse to get me out of there, I know it was. I _am_ a profiler, after all.

Morgan sighed and leaned back in his chair, "Reid, man, chill. She's fine; just got out of surgery not that long ago." I turned to him, my face peppered with shock. They had taken her into surgery? Her injuries were that bad?! Surgery… there was a .01 percent chance of dying from anesthesia alone. That's 1 in 10,000 people… the population of Las Vegas is 558,383 people as of 2008. What if she has enough drugs in her system that the anesthesia kills her? Or that something else happens… like the surgeons hand slips, she hemorrages, or survives only to die from some other complication? I ran a hand through my hair as I sat down. As I put my head in my hands, Morgan chuckled, "Don't worry, it's nothing major; they just need to fix the c-section that those bastards tried to give her and stitch up some of the worse cuts. We're waiting on the doctor to come get us now."

I sighed, shaking my head in my hands. Feelings of worry, of helplessness, overwhelmed me. From what we had seen at the church – Methohexital, coffins, the baby, blood… Dilaudid – she must have been kept there for years. For years, in that… I felt sick; sick to my core. There had to have been something I could have done. Anything to prevent this… there had to be…

"Hey, hey," Morgan slapped his arm around my shoulders, "I know that look; you're blaming yourself, aren't you Reid? Listen to me man, there is nothing, _nothing_ you could have done, okay?"

"There had to have been–"

Morgan chuckled mirthlessly, "Reid, you and me both know that there was nothing any of us could have done."

He was right, and I knew it. All I could do was shrug and stare between my fingers at the floor. Time passed by slowly after that; it didn't do anything to help ease my nerves. Others came and went, but Morgan and I stayed. Eventually Morgan left to confer with the others; I refused to go, preferring to wait for the doctor. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, a doctor walked over to me with Morgan in tow.

"I am Dr. Edwards; are you Spencer Reid?" She asked, looking between Morgan and I.

I nodded quickly, "Yes; I am Spencer Reid. Can I see her?"

"She was asking for you," My heart leapt in my chest at those words. She _was_ alive, "… won't say anything other then your name. Come with me; we had to give her a sedative because she had a fit, but she'll be waking up soon." I nodded once and she turned, going back the way she came with Morgan and I in tow.

"What's she got, doc?" Morgan asked before I could.

Edwards sighed and shook her head, "It was bad. She had so much Dilaudid in her system that we had to treat her for an overdose. We also had to correct a c-section that looked like it had been done with a rusty kitchen knife. Also, only some of her other 'wounds' were actually wounds at all; she was covered in scars."

"Did you take pictures and a rape kit for the investigation?" Morgan asked for me again; I was too busy taking in the information and forming pictures of my own to really speak without vomiting. An overdose on Dilaudid… I visibly shivered at the news. That substance… so addicting, so enticing… there were many times I thought I would overdose and die. It was horrible, living like that…

Edwards nodded, "Yeah, I got what I could before she went into surgery. Las Vegas Forensics already came and got them. In my entire career, I have never seen anything like it. Her genitals were hacked away at with some kind of knife. I… have never seen that amount of abuse and scaring to a patient and had them survive."

"Has she said anything? Anything at all?" Morgan took the papers she offered him and scanned over them quickly.

She shook her head again, "Nothing but Dr. Reid's name. When we tried to check her vitals, she had a fit and we had to sedate her."

Morgan nodded, "That's understandable after what she's gone through."

We finally reached Nephilim's room. Dr. Edwards opened the door and went in, Morgan following behind her. He stopped halfway through the door and turned to look at me. I had stopped, staring inside the room. After everything that had happened, I felt… nervous. My palms felt sweaty and I could feel my face become hot. A smirk worked it's way onto Morgan's face as he reached forward and grabbed my tie, pulling me into the room hard enough that I stumbled.

"Morgan, why'd-" I spun around to look at him, but stopped short at the sound of a voice behind me.

"Spence…?" Her voice was tired and weak, holding the sleepy softness of one that just woke up. I turned to look at her, my eyes wide. The blood had been washed away, her hair cleaned, and the cuts bandaged. Her long, long white hair was splayed out across the pillows and sheets, a blanket itself in it's own right. The hospital gown and sheets hid the worst injuries that those bastards had inflicted on her but her arms were bandaged all the way from her palm to under the short sleeves of the gown. Her face, however, was completely fine; not even a black eye or a single cut. Her eyes seemed darker then I remembered; more crimson then pink like they were when we were kids.

"Nephilim…" I choked out. My throat felt tight as I made my way to her side. My vision blurred slightly as I stared down at her. Just stared. It had been thirteen years since I last saw her, a little girl of ten years old. Now here she was, nearly twenty-four years old… and she hadn't changed a bit. Even that innocent gleam in her eyes was still there. How?

She reached out her hands and grabbed mine, pulling me forward with all the force of a pesky fly. I didn't need her to tell me what she wanted; in an instant I pulled her into a hug, burying my head in her shoulder. I could feel tears spill over as I held to her my chest. She giggled – something I never thought I would hear again – and wrapped her arms around me as I held her as tightly as I could. In truth, I was afraid she would disappear, that she would vanish and I would wake up in my apartment at Quantico. Even now I could scarcely believe this was real, that it wasn't a dream. Then the image of that basement came to my mind; this couldn't be a dream.

I held her tighter.

"Reid, let her breathe man," Morgan said, his voice laced with amusement. I pulled away from Nephilim but kept my seat on the edge of her bed; she wouldn't let my hands go. I wiped my face on the shoulder of my shirt quickly.

"They said would come for me," Her voice was so earnest, so childlike, that it made my heart ache. She really hadn't changed…

Morgan moved to just behind me. It was time now; time for questioning. Unknowingly I held her hands tighter, looking back at Morgan. He nodded and I turned to Edwards, "Dr. Edward, may we speak to her alone?"

She nodded, "I will be in my office if you need me; the call button is right next to the bed and the nurses' station is just outside."

Once she was gone, I looked back down at Nephilim. "Nephi," I used her old nickname, hoping to keep her calm, "Who said I would come?"

"The… the Oracle and the girl who looked after me," She said quietly, looking down at our hands, "He said that he needed to make sure _you_ came here to find me."

This threw me a bit, "Why me?"

To both Morgan's and my surprise, an unmistakable bright pink blush made its way across her ghostly pale features. She managed to pull her hands out of mine and wrapped them around her knees, which she pulled up to her chest. I turned to look at Morgan, who shrugged. With a sigh, I ducked down so I was eye level with her.

"Nephi, why did they need me to find you?" I made sure to speak slowly and as nonthreateningly as I could. At first she wouldn't look me in the eye, but after a moment, Nephilim turned back towards me.

"They said I can't tell you anything or you will leave…"

My eyebrows shot up for a moment before a light chuckle escaped me, "I'm right here, aren't I? It'll be okay."

"I… I guess so…" Her eyes kept shooting in Morgan's direction. She fell silent, looking between him and I until she added, "Wh-who's he?"

Morgan smiled reassuringly, "I'm Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI; Spencer here is my partner."

Her eyes widened and she looked back at me, "R-really? You're Morgan?"

This threw both of us. I turned to look at Morgan; he had a surprised look on his face that mirrored my own. "What do you know about me?" He asked.

She shrugged, "Nurse and Mr. Reynolds gave me ne-newspaper clippings sometimes; th-they were all about Spencer and the FBI. Th-they would tell me stories about y-you all sometimes too…"

"Morgan," I said, looking at him pointedly. He nodded, saying "I'm on it" before flipping open his cellphone and leaving, but not before flipping open the window blinds so he could see inside. Morgan needed to tell the others about this; see if they found anything about us at the church. Once he left, I turned to Nephilim again, "This is important, Nephi; why did they want me?"

She looked at her, her big red eyes so painstakingly innocent I felt like crying again, "Because you fit the profile."

I froze, my eyes widening. I… fit the profile? What profile? I searched through my head for anything that could even slightly resemble a profile. A profile, like the hundreds and thousands of ones the team and I had given in the past…

_"The donors had to match a specific height, weight, hair color, eye color, hair __**length**__, IQ…"_

"What… what profile?" I managed to choke out as Morgan came back in. Prentiss had been talking about the donors Reynolds had been using to… to impregnate… her. It was even hard to think it.

Morgan's eyebrows shot up; he'd heard me, "Profile?"

Nephilim nodded and then buried her head in her knees, wrapping her arms tighter around them, "Mmm-hmm. That's what the Nurse that took care of me called it. The Oracle called it the 'guidelines'."

"Nephi," I reached forward and as gently and slowly as I could unwrapped her arms from her knees. She looked up at me slowly, "This is really important. Do you know this profile and can you tell me what it is?"

She squirmed uncomfortably, "U-um… I'm not supposed to tell you…"

It was frustrating that she didn't want to tell me, "Nephilim, it's okay to tell me."

"But… b-but," Her voice got higher, "They'll hurt me again. They'll hurt me… then they'll kill the babies again!" She was on the edge of hysterics again. I could hear her heart race from the monitor; she needed to stay calm or the doctor would kick us out.

"Hey, hey, it's okay…" Morgan took a step towards the bed. She jumped and squealed, scooting away from him and towards me. I shot a look at Morgan and he stopped; the doctor said that she wouldn't let anyone get near her. It seemed Morgan was no different… but why was I?

We waited silently until Nephilim calmed down. Once her heart rate returned to normal, I smiled reassuringly the best I could and looked down at her, "Nephilim, I won't let anyone hurt you. You'll be fine."

"A… are you sure?" She looked up at me trustingly.

"Have I ever lied to you?"

Nephilim pretended to think about it for a minute, then nodded, "Yeah; when I caught you try-trying to make me a cake for my birthday. You said it was f-for Mrs. Reid."

At this I had to smile; Morgan was going to tease me about that later, "Well, I'm not lying now. No one is going to hurt you."

She looked up at Morgan then me again. Nephilim looked down at her hands and sighed, "He said… that I would be the mother of Set… th-that I was 'perfect'. He said that… the father also had to be p-perfect…" She fiddled with her hands and fell silent for a moment before taking in a deep breath, "He… he told me that Set spoke to him and told him what kind of person the mother and father of Set had to be. Th-the father… had to be sm-smart. An… an IQ between 170 and 190… brown hair and dark brownish eyes… He had to be between six feet and six feet four inches tall, slender build… su-successful job, college graduate… and he has to have a family history of any kind of men-mental illness and be socially awkward… He said that they needed to look like him and be like him… Spence? Spence, are you o-okay?"

I was far from okay. She had just given us a profile of the man who held her, this 'Oracle'… and also gave a profile of myself, down to my hair and eye color. I turned away from her, looking down at my hands. Every one of the men who had been forced on her was as similar to this man as possible; as similar to _me_ as possible. My hands started to shake as Morgan moved closer to the bed, kneeling down so he was eye level with Nephilim.

"Nephilim, is the man who did this to you called Xavier Reynolds?" His voice was tight and he kept glancing sideways at me. Morgan had made the connection too.

"Spence?" She ignored Morgan, scooting towards me and ducking down so she could look me in the eyes, "Are you okay Spence? Does something hurt? Did I say something wrong? Spencer…"

I just shook my head and lied, "I'm fine, answer Morgan's questions, Nephilim."

"Well… he's your friend so…" Nephilim cast an anxious glance at me and looked over at Morgan. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a sigh. All of a sudden I felt her pat my head, "Pain, pain, go away. Come again some other day." Both Morgan and I froze. I looked up at her with shocked eyes – that was a phrase she used a lot when we were kids and someone had picked on me – and saw her smiling brightly at me. She was acting so childish… in fact, it was _too_ childish…

"Nephilim, was the man called Xavier Reynolds?" Morgan repeated after a stunned moment.

She looked over at him and shook her head slowly, "No; Mr. Reynolds was his other side, the nice one. The Oracle and Set are inside Mr. Reynolds."

"Inside him? Like… multiple personalities?" I asked. When she nodded slowly, I knew. We were dealing with a man with multiple personality disorder that also fit the characteristics that she had given us. He had religious personalities too…

Just like Tobias.

I shuddered and closed my eyes. Images came to my mind in perfect clarity; tied to a chair and ordered to choose one of my friends to die, digging my own grave… the pinch of a cool needle sliding under my skin, giving a momentary relief from the pain.

"Reid?" Morgan said slowly, reaching across the bed to grab my shoulder, "Reid?" My eyes snapped open and I sprang up off the bed and started to pace. The unmistakable rising in Nephilim's heart rate reached my ears as the machine monitoring her vitals began to go haywire.

"Is he okay?" She said, her soft voice getting higher again, "Spence, Spence, did I say something wrong? I… I'm sorry…"

All I could do was shake my head, "No, you didn't do anything wrong, Nephilim. Nothing that happened is your fault, okay?" I turned back towards her and forced a smile as I sat back down again, "Now, Nephi… is there anything else?"

"Anything else?"

Morgan took over for me, "Anything he said that seemed odd, what he did, how he treated you, anything you can think of?"

"Mr. Reynolds was nice," She said, "The only time I was ever hurt by him or anyone else was after the babies were born. He kept me in a room with video games and lots of dolls. Ellie, the nurse, usually took care of me. She came about two years ago; the Oracle took her too. He said that no one else was supposed to see me anymore and he needed someone to take care of me when he couldn't. Th-then… when a baby was born, he took it away and I never even saw them. He gave me a week and then Set took over… he is the mean one. He… he hurts me…" Her voice got higher and Nephilim's face screwed up in pain, "He… he t-t-touched me… and… and he… p-put stuff in me… over and over and over again… and… and he cut me and… and it didn't stop… it didn't stop until the… the little test strips said 'pregnant' or turned blue. He… he hurt me… so much… th-then he locked me in my room with Ellie, and she would help me get better." She buried her head in her knees and sobbed, pulling her sheets tighter around her. The machine next to the bed sputtered and sped up.

I was at a loss for what to do. Slowly, as if any sudden movement would make her completely break down, I reached out and drew her into another hug. Nephilim curled up into a ball and just cried, gripping my shirt with all the strength that her weak arms could muster. I looked up at the ceiling felt my eyes water. I rested my chin on top of her head as I held her. How could anyone do this to another human being? Thirteen years of torture and abuse…

"The… the only ones… wh-who were nice… were… Mr. Reynolds an-and Ellie…" She choked out, gripping my shirt tighter. Nephilim gasped and looked up at me, "Wh-what if he… wh-what if he hurts Ellie?! Th-the Oracle hurt her before when she tried to get away… wh-what if he h-hurts her l-like he hurt m-me?!"

"Shh… shhh…" I tried to comfort her, rubbing my hand up and down her back, "We'll find her, okay? Now calm down… shh…" She buried her head back in my chest and I looked at Morgan, at a loss for what to do. We couldn't question her anymore when she was like this and her racing heart would more then likely cause us to get kicked out any minute.

"What's going on?" The door swung open and in walked Dr. Edwards, looking rather exasperated. I hate being right sometimes… "I'm going to have to ask you both to leave; she can't be stressed this soon after surgery."

As soon as she said that, Nephilim's heart rate shot up. I tried to pull away from her, but she wouldn't let go of my shirt. Dr. Edwards walked quickly over to my side and pried her hands off of my shirt and Nephilim gave a strangled cry. My eyes widened as a flood of nurses rushed into the room, pushing Morgan and I out of the way. Nephilim was flailing around, trying as hard as she could to break away from the nurses that held her down. Edwards filled a syringe with a clear liquid and injected it directly into the I.V. at the side of her bed. The nurses continued to hold her still until, after a few minutes, her heart rate lowered and she stopped struggling. The nurses backed off and Edwards sighed, shaking her head. Nephilim looked at me, her eyes half-lidded and a small smile on her face before she finally fell asleep.

"What just happened?" Morgan asked, turning to look at me with wide eyes.

Edwards sighed again, "Her body is really weak right now. I don't know the details of your case, agents, but until she gets better I cannot let you question her to the point she has a breakdown. Her heart couldn't take the stress so we had to sedate her before she had a heart attack. Now, please follow me." She left the room and beckoned us to follow. Morgan left first, but I stayed for a moment, staring at Nephilim's sleeping form. So looked so peaceful…

"Reid, come on," Morgan said from the doorway, "Don't worry about her; she'll be here when you get back." He smiled at me as reassuringly as a man like Morgan could. I only nodded and followed him out.

Once out in the hallway, Edwards turned to us, "Is there any family that we can contact? She has no medical records on file and we need to get into contact with the family."

I shook my head, "Her parents were killed when she was ten and her grandparents on both sides have passed away."

"Aunts? Uncles? Anyone?" She inquired. Again I shook my head, "Is there anyone at all?"

"Not really…" I said quietly, "Both her and her parents were only children. My… my mother and I are all she has left."

"Ah, I see…" Edwards nodded slowly, placing a hand on her chin, "Well, most of her injuries are superficial and she should be ready to be discharged in about two days once her c-section has healed up. I need someone I can release her to. If she has no family and it is as you say, then would it be at all possible for me to release Ms. Christenson to you or your mother?"

"My mother wouldn't be able too," I said automatically. She was still a touchy subject with me, and most likely always would be. Then, completely a surprised to both Morgan and myself, I added, "I can take her."

Morgan looked at me like I had grown another head. He quickly excused the both of us and took me aside, his arm over my shoulders, "Reid, man, are you sure? We don't yet even know yet everything that happened to her, and you'll be gone on cases a lot."

"I know, but what other choice does she have, Morgan?" I said, exasperated. Running a hand through my hair, I added, "She's been locked away from the world for thirteen years; what chance does she have in the world right now. Her parents are dead, she has no living relatives, and at least until we catch this guy Nephilim is at risk."

He sighed and shook his head, "I just want to make sure that you're sure, Reid."

"I'm sure, Morgan."

______________________________________________________________________________

**Author's Note:** Well, how was that one? I had fun with it~ Nephilim especially; took me a while and some research to try and figure out the mentality of someone in her situation. And other things about her that you'll find out later~

**CHAPTER FIVE PREVIEW**

_"This place looks like some kind of little girl's dollhouse; everything is all lacey and pink."_

_"Newsflash Morgan; a lot of little girls like pink."_

_"Actually that's a common misconception–-"_

_"Guys, I've… I've got a match for the skin cells found on the chains in the closet…"_

_"Who is it, baby?"_

_"Derek… it's Elle."_


	6. She Who is the Caretaker

**Author's Note:** 'Ello! I kinda want to change the name of this fanfic to Angelus Lacryma… I dunno why, I just like Lacryma more then Lacrima. They mean the same thing, so it doesn't really matter, but… Oh, I've also got a few more ideas for Criminal Minds fics… one of which involves Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss cosplaying as Edward Elric, Barret Wallace, and Tifa Lockhart respectively. Don't ask why… just chuckle at the image now in your head.

**Disclaimer:** I wish.

* * *

Chapter Five

**She Who is the Caretaker**

"_Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!"_

– _The Nurse from Romeo and Juliet_

* * *

It was early morning now; we arrived back at the church around six o'clock. I was, without a doubt, absolutely exhausted. The others were as well, sure, but the none of them had stayed up all night in a hospital watching Star Wars with a ten year old in a twenty-three year olds body. Then again, it _was_ my fault. Instead of going back to the hotel with Morgan, I rented some movies and went right back to the hospital. Call it paranoia, call it anxiety, but I didn't want to leave her alone that night. Something seemed… off. I couldn't place it, but until I was absolutely sure Nephilim was safe – and preferably in an area surrounded by people – I wanted to stay there myself. It just felt like we were missing the glaringly obvious…

"Hey, Reid," I turned to Morgan. He was leaning inside the van with one hand on the hood, looking down at me with a rather somber expression, "You comin', man?"

"Yeah…" I nodded and he left. A small sigh escaped me and I closed my eyes for a moment.

"Reid!"

"Coming!" My eyes snapped open and I quickly exited the van, looking around for the others. Yellow crime scene tape covered the perimeter of the house and wooden barricades were set up in the street to keep out the press. Police shootout with five dead… it sure got there attention. For a moment, I felt disgusted at them. Five people dead and one tortured for a thirteen year span and all they could think about was getting the full story first. The press had rushed the barricades when the FBI brought in the UNABOMBER… all to get the story first.

Looking over at the masses for a moment, I made my decision; no way in _hell_ was Nephilim's name getting out to the press.

"Reid, man, come on," I jumped a bit when Morgan slammed his arm around my shoulders, "Hotch wants you and Prentiss to check out the upstairs while the rest of us take the church and the basement." I silently thanked Hotchner for not wanting me to check out the basement. They all probably knew that I wouldn't be able to keep my head in that.

I followed Morgan through the fence and up the front porch. The yard and garden were just a well-kept as I remembered them from my childhood. The flowers were the only change; before it was more of an herb garden, full of foxglove and camomile. Now it was full of anemones, pink carnations, and day lilies. Refusal, abandonment, forsaken – the anemones – then an emblem of mother's day – pink carnations – and an emblem of the mother – day lilies – ? The only one I could think of who fit that was Nephilim; abandoned when everyone gave up searching for her and the mother of twenty dead children. Whoever planted these most likely knew something…

Inside the house was the same as the night before. The bodies were still there, unmoved. We knew that the scene had been processed and all that was being waited on was the BAU to make their rounds before taking out the bodies. Morgan joined Hotch at the alter after waving to me and the two of them began looking over the bodies; most likely looking for any kind of behavior that could lead to a profile. Things had been going so fast that we hadn't the time to give an accurate profile yet… even though we already knew the name of the unsub. That meant we would need to tread lightly; it is all too easy to tailor a profile to a specific person if you have a suspect in mind.

I slowly made my way up the stairs, careful to keep my eyes up instead out down into the basement. At the top was Prentiss, waiting for me, "There you are, Reid. Come on." She turned and led me to the end of the hall; to the room with the boarded up window. The room was… some twisted version of a dollhouse. Everything was pink, white, and frilly. The bed was _covered_ in pillows and must have been stacked three-high with comforters with even more blankets on top of it. There were no chairs or tables; only what looked like at least twenty cushy frilly pink bean bags scattered all over. More lacey pillows were scattered across the floor. The closet – open due to processing – was filled with identical white dresses of a style that could only be described as a mix of Victorian and dolls clothes. On the wall opposite the bed was a television built high into the wall; high enough that someone of Nephilim's height would barely be able to touch it. I walked over to the television and saw that on the floor was a few different game stations with their cords going into the wall; no doubt connecting to the television through the wall. Curiously, the game stations looked like their sharp edges had been filed and were wrapped in bubble wrap. It was then I noticed, scattered throughout the room but partially hidden by the plethora of pillows and bean bags, were a number of very old looking porcelain dolls of all different kinds. Once thing that struck me was that nothing in the room was pointed. Like whoever had decorated it had done everything they could to file down any sharp edges and pad anything they couldn't sharpen.

"Hey, Reid, look at this," I turned to look at Prentiss, who was standing over the bed. She had taken some of the pillows off to reveal handcuffs on all four edges of the bed. I walked over – tripping over a pillow on my way – to examine them. They smelt of bleach, which was odd. The room smelt strongly of lavender, but these cuffs had a strong bleach smell, like someone had tried to get blood off of them.

"This is where they held her," I said, my eyebrows pulling together, "During the times when she was pregnant, they kept her locked up in here. These cuffs were probably used to restrain her when then examined her or when she fought them… there were scars on her wrists; most likely she fought until she bled." I stood up straight again and turned to the boarded up window; it was covered by two lacey, opaque pink curtains, "They boarded up the windows to keep sunlight out of the room. Nephilim is not only an albino, but she has Solar Urticaria, passed down from her mom's side…"

"Speak english, Reid, please," Prentiss sighed as she walked around the bed to examine the game stations.

"She's allergic to sunlight," I said simply.

"Ah," Prentiss examined the game stations for a moment before adding, "They even padded the game stations and kept the television out of her reach. Why give her something to do when her only purpose was to have children?"

I didn't know, but I had some ideas, "Maybe because they didn't want her to become bored enough that she would hurt herself doing something like dancing, jumping on the bed, or climbing up the sides of the four-poster."

Prentiss looked at me, incredulous, "Why in the world would she do that, even if she was bored?"

"Nephilim is… a special girl," I made my way to the closet, looking through the clothes, "Everything is padded and this closet was locked. They obviously wanted to do anything to keep her from hurting herself or the baby… why are all these dresses the same?"

"Maybe the unsub was trying to act out some sort of fantasy… one of the personalities, anyway," Prentiss answered, moving to examine a few of the dolls, "A pregnant girl in the same white dress, over and over again… just what is it this man was trying to achieve?"

I pushed the rest of the dresses out of the way and leaned over to pick up another pair of handcuffs, this time on a long chain and atop a sleeping bag, "Prentiss, has CSI processed this?" I held them up for her to see and she nodded, "Yeah, all the physical evidence found has been rushed to the FBI field office for analysis; they had it made priority because of the nature, breadth, and sheer number of the murders. We should get the results back tomorrow." I sighed. The brass no doubt wanted this case closed as soon as possible; the fact that the murders of newborns had gone on so long without any connection _embarrassed_ them.

"This place looks like some kind of little girl's dollhouse; everything is all lacey and pink," I turned to see Morgan leaning against the doorframe, his eyebrows raised as he looked around the room. Apparently, all the pink and fluff amused him.

Prentiss scowled at him, "Newsflash Morgan; a lot of little girls like pink."

"Actually that's a common misconception–-" I began before Morgan cut me off.

"We're done downstairs, you guys ready?" Morgan pushed himself off the doorframe, "Hotch thinks we've got enough for a profile now. We'll send it in to Quantico and then give it to the police."

* * *

It didn't take long for Quantico to approve our profile; it rarely did. Back in the beginnings of profiling in the FBI, it could take days for the profile to be approved, depending on how fast the mail service was that day and how far we were. But now, with the advent of technology, things were a lot faster. Mere hours after leaving the church and talking it over with the others, we were ready to give our profile. The station looked the same as it always did the countless other times we had been called out to Vegas on cases. It hadn't even changed that much since my childhood when I was brought in for questioning. Surrounding us were the members of the Las Vegas Police Department; we were by the far end of the room, in front of a corkboard full of crime scene photos of both the church and the seventeen – now twenty – newborns. There was also a photo of Nephilim…

"Our unsub is most likely a white male in his early forties," Hotchner started, "He was probably in his mid to late twenties at the time of Ms. Christenson's kidnapping and Mr. And Mrs. Christenson's murders."

Prentiss continued from there, "He is charismatic in nature, with the ability to manipulate people into believing in his ideology. The unsub, despite this, most likely doesn't like crowds or large gatherings of people."

"He is a classic narcissistic sociopath," Morgan added, "He's trying to live out a fantasy involving the birth of who he thinks would be the perfect child with the perfect parents. Only he knows what constitutes this 'perfect family'."

"He is most likely very intelligent with the credentials to match," Rossi said, pacing around the room in front of us, "The handsome one, the one you would least expect to do any wrong. He has a cool façade and appears very much the gentlemen."

Everything fell silent until one of the policemen piped up, "Wasn't there more? Didn't Agents Reid and Morgan get anything out of the victim, Nephilim Christenson?"

The others all looked at me and I sighed, "Yes, we did. The unsub most likely suffers from Multiple Personality disorder. The submissive personality, that of Xavier Reynolds, is present most of the time and he fits this profile. The second personality, that of the so-called 'Oracle' fits it as well, but he is far more charismatic and able to keep his followers loyal. The third is Set, the most dangerous one; the dominant personality. According to the victim, he is shown the least but is far, far more volatile and brutal then the others. He is also very specific in his criteria for the 'mother', 'father', and 'child' in whatever fantasy he is trying to recreate. According, again, to the victim, the 'father' figure must resemble himself physically, mentally, and socially. One possibility is that he lost a family in his past and is trying to recreate it through these forced pregnancies. Xavier Reynolds is most likely a pseudonym."

"With Ms. Christenson in custody, will Reynolds go after other girls?" Another officer asked.

I shook my head slowly, "He will probably try to kidnap Nephilim again."

"The unsub has developed an obsession with this fantasy of his," Morgan explained, "To him, he has found the perfect mother and will not let her go. Each of the newborns was fathered by someone that fit his criteria of the 'perfect father' yet for one reason or another the child wasn't what he wanted, so he had them murdered. He will not stop going after her or stop trying to live out his fantasy until we catch him."

"There were five cultists killed at the church," said an officer, "If the… unsub is so charismatic and good at manipulating people, who's to say that he won't gather more followers or has a group already?"

This one Hotch answered, "For all we know, he already has."

Murmurs broke out across the group of officers. It lasted for a moment until the new senior detective, Ryan Scott, called for everyone to settle down, "The FBI has given their profile, so keep it in mind. Let's catch this son of a bitch!" The officers stood up and began going their separate ways. I quickly walked over to the conference soon the LVPD was letting us use and grabbed my jacket and scarf. I turned to leave only to find myself face to face with Prentiss. A strangled yell escaped me as I jumped back, my heart stopping for a moment.

"Reid? Are you okay?" Emily asked, concerned.

I sighed and nodded, "Yeah… just… don't sneak up on my again, okay?"

She chuckled lightly, "Well, where are you going?"

"Nephilim is getting discharged today; I'm going to pick her up."

"Ahh…" Emily nodded, a small smile playing on her lips, "Morgan told us that you offered to take the girl in. Figured out what you're going to do yet?"

"No," I said simply, moving my way around her, "I have no idea."

"Well, if you need any help, Reid…" Emily called after me, "Sometimes, you _forget_ to ask." I could hear the amusement in her voice. After muttering a quick thanks I started for the main doors of the precinct. Before I got there, however, I was once again stopped. This time it was by Hotch, "Garcia's got the results from the blood and DNA found at the church. Conference room, now." There was no room for discussion on his face. I sighed and followed him back into the conference room. I wasn't technically due to pick Nephilim up until ten anyway…

"Whaddaya got for us, Hotch?" Morgan asked as he sat down with the others. I quickly took my seat, eager to get this done with as soon as possible.

Hotchner took out his cell phone and dialed. He then set the phone in the middle of the table and pressed the speaker button. Garcia's voice came from it; she seemed happier then before, for which I was glad, "Source of the midichlorians; check for the power of the Force." I seemed to be the only one in the room who got that joke; a first.

"What do you have for us, Garcia?" Hotchner demanded, wasting no time.

Garcia sighed over the phone, "Right, right. Well, the blood on the altar in the basement was a mix of blood an amniotic fluid. The ground floor altar was just blood; so the baby was born in the basement and then brought upstairs to be killed. This guy… this guy is good. Reid, you're not going to like this, but… the Dilaudid in the bottle and the Dilaudid in Nephilim's system are of the same type and mixture as the one you were drugged with in Georgia." My hands curled into fists at this and I looked down, away from the others. My teeth ground together as the usual flood of images came to my mind. Being bound, tortured, drugged… the taking the drugs only to use them myself later. The need… the unbelievable pull that the Dilaudid had for me was the most horrible and most pleasurable thing I had ever experienced. And if Nephilim was to go through the same thing I did… "The Methodhexital used to overdose the babies was most likely obtained from St. Mary's; over the last thirteen years, Dr. Smith has been prescribing it to patients that don't exist."

"IS it possible you just can't find them?" Rossi asked. There was a gasp on the other line and I had a mental picture of Garcia holding her chest like she'd just been shot, "Oh, wise one, you wound me so! When I said they don't exist, I meant it. No records, no birth record, social security, and the address every patient gave was one of the addresses on the list the doctor gave us. He must have thought that I wouldn't find out his dirty little secret." The last bit of what she said was sing-song and I couldn't help but smile, even as my thoughts were edged by Dilaudid.

"Garcia, what about the chains in the bedroom?" I asked quietly.

"Well, Nephilim was kept there all right; it was her hair on the pillow," Garcia said, "Though you don't need DNA to tell you that; how many people do you know with naturally bright white hair that's not in their nineties. I'm running the DNA from the chains in the closet now…" There was a strangled, shocked gasp from the phone. Immediately, we were all out of our chairs, staring down at the phone and ready to bolt out of there the second we heard anything else. Garcia has already been shot once on the job…

"Baby… Garcia? Garcia!" Morgan's voice was edgy and frightened, "What's wrong?"

"Guys, I've… I've got a match for the skin cells found on the chains in the closet…" Garcia choked out from the other end of the line. I let out a sigh of relief and we all slid back down into our seats. Garcia was alright…

Morgan looked just as relieved as me, "Who is it, baby?"

There was silence, and Morgan repeated himself. Again, more silence. Garcia sighed over the phone again and said in a shaky voice, "Derek… it's Elle." All of use froze. Even Prentiss and Rossi, who became part of the team after Elle left, knew who she was. In any of the times we talked of our past cases, past times, it wasn't like we left her out… no matter what happened, she was still our friend…

That was when I realized it had been nearly two years since I'd seen Elle Greenaway.

_"Ellie, the nurse, usually took care of me. She came about two years ago; the Oracle took her too. He said that no one else was supposed to see me anymore and he needed someone to take care of me when he couldn't."_

"Ellie…" I said slowly, my eyes widening. The others turned to me and I saw realization dawn on Morgan's face, "Nephilim said her 'nurse', the one who took care of her, was named Ellie… and that she would tell her stories about us."

"Of course… of _course_!" Morgan stood again, his eyebrows pulled together and a look of frustration and anger on his face, "He knows about us somehow and probably knew that Elle was once in the BAU. If you're intent on luring the BAU somewhere, take one of their own!"

"… Except he didn't take into account that she'd _left_ the BAU…" Hotch added.

"… So he had the murders happen in one area, to draw attention to it and get us dragged into the investigation…" Rossi said. The pieces were falling into place.

"And Greenaway became the caretaker of Nephilim, kept tied up with those chains," Prentiss said slowly, looking down at her hands.

"But why go to all the trouble?" Hotch demanded of no one in particular. The emotions were high in the room. Well, of course they were; someone that we considered family to this day was in the hands of a murderous psychopath.

"We need to go talk to her again; maybe Nephilim knows where Reynolds is keeping Elle now," I stood up and started towards the door.

"Wait, Reid," Hotch stopped me before I could leave, "We don't all have to go to the hospital. You and Prentiss go, Morgan, Rossi, and I will talk to the chief of police and get J.J. to file a missing persons."

"Why hasn't anyone yet?"

"I've got the answer to that, Reid," Garcia called out over the phone, "Someone's been paying her bills all this time and taken care of her mail and newspaper."

"I'll call Quantico and get them to get some agents out to stake out Elle's last known address; Rossi, you and Morgan go talk to J.J. and the chief," Hotchner ordered, "Garcia, check Elle's cellphone records, anything you can find."

We were all out of there before anyone could say anything else. It was like someone had lit a fire under us; we had to work faster now. If Elle's purpose to the unsub was to take care of Nephilim, and if he no longer had Nephilim…

Then there was no need for Elle anymore.

* * *

**Author's Note:** It's 2:35 am right now! Wheee~ I keep finishing these things late. Anyway, originally this part was a lot longer then it is, but I decided to cut it into two separate chapters. But look at that! Elle's makin' a comeback! I always really liked her~ But… I wanna bring back _everyone_ because they're all so amazing~ Hell, Lila might even make an appearance if I feel so inclined. ^^

**CHAPTER SIX PREVIEW**

_"Ellie is my friend; she's like a big sister. Please find her, Spence…"_

_"Don't worry, Nephi… we'll find her."_

_"Promise?"_

_"I promise…"_

_"Hotch, what is it?"_

_"We just got an anonymous tip telling us that Elle is safe and we would find her soon."_

_"But J.J. hasn't even announced that she's missing yet."_

_"Exactly."_


End file.
